


Stress Headache #333

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many ways to relieve stress...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stress Headache #333

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in To Life Immortal #5, Nancy Klauchie editor, and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #17 both under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"A classic tale of manly tragedy."_

 

"Blackwood, you're starting to see aliens around every tree."

"Can I help it if they are, Colonel?"

"I appreciate your concern, but we just don't have the manpower, or the time, to follow up on every report of a 'strange' occurrence."

"Then we have to make the time, Colonel.  And get the people.  How are we supposed to stop these aliens if we don't find out what they're up to?!"

"Flesh and blood human beings are responsible for most of these reports, Blackwood.  Not aliens!  It's not our job to stop all the weirdos running around on this planet."

"What about the Hot House?  Or that vegetarian cattle baron—"

"Look, maybe some of these warrant a follow-up, but—"

"But what?  Are we going to lose this war just because—"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne McCullough rolled onto her back and glared at the ceiling.  It had no right being there at – she checked the clock – 1:10 a.m. on a Saturday morning.  She should be looking at some pleasant dream landscape, or even the welcome blackness of a deep, restful slumber.  But, no, instead, she was wide awake, trying to make out the patterns in the stucco facade while _they_ continued to carry on like a pair of small boys arguing over who was going to use the only baseball glove!

Angry, half-suppressed voices continued to drift up from downstairs, an occasional fragment becoming clear when the pitch was just right.  At least they were trying to keep it to a dull roar, but they weren't succeeding very well.

They were in Harrison's office.  They were awake.  At one in the morning.  In Harrison's office, arguing about – whatever the hell they were arguing about, and—

Suzanne yanked the pillow out from beneath her head and deposited it on her face.

It didn't help.

She folded her arms across the fluffy lump, but occasional grumbles and growls still penetrated her peace.

Grabbing the sides of the pillow she snatched it off her face, yelling at the same time, "Do you mind?!  Some of us are _trying_ to sleep!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Now, see what you've done?" Blackwood accused.  " _You_ woke up Suzanne!"

"Me!?"

Norton's voice rolled down the stairs.  "She's not the only one you woke up!"

"Yeah!" echoed Debi.

"Well, I hope you're happy, Colonel.  Now you've got them _all_ up!"

"Listen, Blackwood, if you think—"

Suzanne's next exclamation stopped the argument cold.  "It _is_ like living on a mental ward!"

The two men stood in the astrophysicist's dimly lit office, Ironhorse with his hands on his hips, Blackwood finally giving up his endless pacing.  At first they glared at one another, but that, coupled with Suzanne's ringing indictment, soon had them feeling foolish. They glanced away, each unsure if he should apologize.  They turned back to face each other, the Colonel's eyebrows arching slowly as he watched a spark of mischief flare into a full-blown blaze in the taller man's blue eyes.

"Just what do you have in mind, Doctor?"

"Let's just call it an exercise in stress reduction, and with any luck, it'll put us back in everyone's good graces."

"Unlikely."

"Come on, Colonel, go with me on this one.  I might need a little strategic backup for this operation."

Ironhorse followed Harrison to the door of the office, his curiosity piqued as only Blackwood could manage it, but he reached out a hand, pressing a palm against the door to keep the scientist from opening it.  "What are you up to, Harrison?"

"Trust me, Colonel.  This is _exactly_ what we need."

Ironhorse moved his hand, albeit reluctantly, and followed Blackwood out of the office, then up the stairs.  "Why doesn't that reassure me, Doctor?" he muttered along the way.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne sighed contentedly as silence once again engulfed the Cottage.  She'd be asleep in a few minutes and the alarm wasn't set until eight.  Yes, she might just be human in the morning after all.  No thanks to _them_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

At the top of the stairs Harrison paused and whispered softly.  "I think we should make Suzanne our target of opportunity.  It really wouldn't be fair to go after Debi or Norton."

"Target of opportunity?"

"Just follow my lead, Colonel.  And enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," Harrison breathed, reaching Suzanne's door.  "Just do what I do."

"I have a bad feeling about this, Blackwood."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne was on the fuzzy edge of sleep when she thought she heard the door to her room open.  A soft voice drifted in.  "Suzanne, are you decent?"

"Uh-course 'm decent," she mumbled in reply.

A second later she was wide awake and swinging on whoever it was with the guts to tickle her at one o'clock in the morning.  With a resounding _thwapp_ she felt her attacker pull back.

"A little assistance here, Colonel!"

"Doctor, I don't think—"

"Ah-ha!" came a loud yell from behind the skulking team member.

The light bursting on momentarily blinded all four, but it was already too late. Norton Drake had a particular Lieutenant Colonel lined up in his pillow-sight and he let fly as the glare flooded over the room.  A dull _thump_ told Drake the mission had been a success.  "Gotcha, Colonel!"

"Harrison!  What're you doing?!" Suzanne squealed as he made a grab for her blanket-protected feet.

"Stress reduction, Suzanne!"

"He's flipped out!" she wailed, shifting into the spirit of the event.  If he wanted a tickle/pillow fight, she was just the microbiologist to give it to him.  After all, she had a daughter who'd honed her skills to near perfection over the past ten years.  Blackwood would never know what hit him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Just like the good ol' nights at PIT," Drake waxed.  "Gertrude, ahead three!  You're all mine, Colonel."

Although he felt totally out of his ken, Ironhorse appreciated the meaning behind the evil grin on the hacker's face.  He might not have engaged in a pillow fight before, but he had the advantage of strategic training.  At least, he thought he did.

"All right, Mr. Drake, if you insist."  Ironhorse stepped back and snatched the pillow out of Suzanne's hands just as Harrison made a grab for it.

"Thanks, buddy!" the Project leader yelled caustically.

Ironhorse swung on Norton in a fluid motion.  Luckily, having grown up with five siblings – and associating with Blackwood for over ten years – the computer genius knew all the signs of an impending pillow attack when he heard or saw one.  He managed to get his own down-filled shield up just in time to ward off the Colonel's blow.

Drake snapped out his own fluffy weapon as Ironhorse was reeling his back in, popping the Colonel in the stomach.

"Umphhh."

"You're no match for Super Pillow Man, Colonel!" Norton proclaimed, following it up with a melodramatic villain's cackle.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne decided that the best advantage she could have over the advancing nutcase was height.  Rolling to the far side of the bed, she quickly scrambled out from under the covers and climbed to her feet on the queen-sized island, scooping up a pillow as she did so.  "Oh, Harrison, you're crazier than I thought."

Blackwood, seeing that the microbiologist had gotten the upper hand, made a risky dive for one of the two remaining sham-covered pillows that served no function other than to dress up the bed when it was made.  _He_ had better plans for the item.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The Colonel pulled back his pillow, ready to take a second swing at Drake when a new variable entered his equation.

"I'll save you, Norton!"

Ironhorse heard the words a mere millisecond before Debi's pillow bounced off his chin and into Drake's lap.  She was fast.

"Gertrude, charge!" the black man yelled.

The voice-activated wheelchair started forward, forcing the Colonel back and trapping him between the wall and the bed.  The machine's occupant cut off the only route of escape, swinging the two pillows like they were flails.

A streak of blonde, heading for the bed, distracted the soldier long enough for Drake to land one of the pillows before Ironhorse's attention locked back on him.

"Mr. Drake!"

"Incoming!" Debi yelled, diving over Harrison – who was reaching for a weapon for himself – and collecting the nearest of the last two pillows into her arms. Spinning around on the bed, she and Norton now had the Colonel in a crossfire at the end of the bed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Surrender, Harrison," Suzanne proclaimed, continuing to swing her pillow back and forth threateningly to keep him away from the last remaining decorator weapon left on her bed.  Side-stepping to avoid hitting Debi, she teased.  "I have you dead to rights, you know.  You started this, but _I'm_ going to finish it."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Attack, Gertrude!" Drake yelled, immediately focusing the Colonel's attention.  Ironhorse had never heard that particular command before, and the vision of being laid out on the floor, a pair of black wheelchair tracks running over his body, immediately sprang unbidden to his mind.  Too late he realized it was a diversion tactic.

"Now!  Slam dunk, Deb!" Drake yelled.

The girl heaved the pillow behind her and brought it down squarely on Ironhorse's head, causing the black hair to fly up with the newly acquired charge of static electricity. The attackers hooted wildly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Ignoring the threat the pillow held, Harrison finally maneuvered to the far side of the bed, and avoiding Debi's rapidly piston-pumping feet, lunged.  He felt his fingers wrap into the frill along the edge of the pillow as, at the same time, he saw Suzanne swing.  The resulting crack was loud enough to freeze everyone in the room.

Ironhorse turned in time to watch the astrophysicist sink gracefully to the floor with a low moaned accompaniment.  Three gazes fixed on the microbiologist, who looked as surprised as the rest of them.  The pillow hanging from one of her hands swung slowly from side to side.

"Wow, Mom, you really clobbered him," Debi said, staring over the edge of the bed, the awe in her voice drawing a chuckle from Drake and Ironhorse.

"I didn't think I hit him _that_ hard," Suzanne said.

Stepping around to his fallen comrade, Ironhorse used the toe of his moccasin to nudge Blackwood's ribs.  "Doctor, can you hear me?"

An undecipherable, slurred expletive was the reply.

"I don't think I'm supposed to hear things like that, am I, Mom," Debi said, causing Suzanne to giggle.

The laughter was contagious and Norton and Debi quickly succumbed to its effects.  Ironhorse fought it off as long as he could, but the cross-eyed look Blackwood fixed on the Special Forces officer was all it took to push the crooked grin into a full-fledged belly laugh.

"Thanks, Colonel," Blackwood groused.  "You're supposed to be on _my_ side."

"Well, Doctor, I'm just taking your advice… and enjoying myself!"

Clutching the pillow to her stomach to try and stop the laugh-pains, Suzanne's eyes grew wide.  "Oops!"

"What?" Debi asked, flopping down on the bed.

"Oh, dear," McCullough hedged as she reached into the pillowcase.  The other three watched as she drew out an inch-thick hardback book.  She fought back a smile.  "I guess I forgot that was in there."

Norton and the Colonel exchanged glances before erupting into laughter again, Suzanne and Debi joining them.  Blackwood, rolling over and making it to his hands and knees, looked up at the text his teammate was holding.

" _The Passion Princess_?" he questioned.

Suzanne shrugged.  " _My_ form of escapism, Doctor."

Using the bed to stabilize himself, Harrison climbed shakily to his feet.

"Well, Doctor, I think you should accept defeat and let these people get back to bed," Ironhorse said, fully intending to escape before anyone had an opportunity to launch another round of attacks.

Blackwood, however, had other plans.  McCullough's undefended bare ankle was only inches away, inviting him to reach out and snare it.  So he did.

Suzanne howled as his hand trapped her ankle and he pulled, yanking her feet out from under her and depositing her on her rump in the center of the bed.

Debi scrambled out of the way and climbed up, able to maintain her balance with one hand on the pale yellow wall until the bouncing stopped.  As soon as they could, she and Norton each swung on the Colonel, who was too busy watching the growing vengeance forming in the woman's eyes to notice his own danger.  "What'd you do that for?" he bellowed at the pair.  "I didn't do anything!"

"Colonel, in the rules of pillow fighting, it's us versus them, and you're one of them," Norton said quickly, nodding at Harrison, who was already backing away from the ex-book-weighted pillow Suzanne was hefting.  The computer hacker swung again, catching the soldier in the mid-section and forcing part of his breath out.

"That does it, Mister!  You're dead—"

"You leave him alone!" Debi yelled in warning as she began a rain of attacks on the Colonel's head and back.

"Yeah!  Get 'em, Deb!" Drake encouraged.

Spinning, Ironhorse lunged at the thirteen-year-old, and in a surprisingly quick maneuver, snared and slung her over his shoulder, the pillow still clutched in her hands.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Harrison, forced to retreat to the far end of the bed or be caught up in the flurry of attacks where he was, gave Suzanne the time she needed to regain her feet.  Tossing the book aside, she wagged her eyebrows at Harrison.  "All right, Blackwood, now you're going to see what an old-fashioned Ohio pillow fight is like."

Drawing the pillow back as far as she could, Suzanne gauged distance and Harrison's possible speed of reaction and let fly.

Blackwood, making the same calculations, chose the most direct route of action. He ducked.

The force of the blow not connecting carried Suzanne around and deposited her on the bed for a second time with a loud, "Ooohuup!"

"Ha!" Blackwood cried in triumph.  "You missed!"

Beginning to rise, Harrison had yet to notice the maneuver that had trapped the thirteen-year-old over the Colonel's shoulder, or the look of retaliation that blazed in Debi's eyes.  He did, however, hear Norton's yell.

"Get 'em Deb!  Swing!  You can do it!"

Looking to see what the commotion was all about, Harrison Blackwood recognized too late that he was about to be had a second time.

Two ends of the pillow clutched in her hands as she hung upside down, Debi knew she should be able to direct the pillow to the back of the Colonel's head before he could dump her on the bed with her mother.  And it would have worked, too, if a certain gloating team leader hadn't chosen that moment to stand up.

But he did.

The full force of thirteen-year-old retribution caught Blackwood under the chin, snapping his head back and depositing him on the floor with a resounding _thud_.

Ironhorse, too busy watching Norton to pay attention to what was happening behind him, spun around at the sound, only to find the other half of "them" laid out on the soft carpet, and this time with a look that said he was staying right there until the armistice was signed.

"Again, Doctor?"

"I surrender," Harrison groaned.  "The odds are against me."

"Odds have nothing to do with it," Ironhorse countered. "Admit it, Blackwood, you were done in by a wo—"

"Watch it, buster, I can put the book back in the pillowcase," Suzanne threatened.

"Uh, Colonel," Debi squeaked.

"Yes, Debi?"

"Can you put me down now?  I'm getting dizzy."

Suzanne and Norton laughed as Ironhorse lowered the girl's feet to the mattress and she was able to stand up again.

"That was fun.  Can we do it again sometime?" Debi asked.

"No!" Blackwood and the Colonel chorused.

"I don't see why you're objecting, Colonel.  You're still on your feet," the victim grumbled.

"He who lives by the sneak-tickle-attack is doomed to fall by the sneak-pillow-attack," Norton stated sagely.  "Didn't Dr. Forrester teach you that?"

"He should've taught him to duck," the Colonel snickered.

"I did duck!" Blackwood defended.  "That's when Debi caught me with that uppercut."

Debi's eyes widened.  "I did that?  I thought I hit the Colonel's head."

"He might be hardheaded, Chicken, but not _that_ hard," Suzanne inserted, winning herself a classic Ironhorse glare.

"Poor Harrison," Norton lamented for his friend.  "First the romance, then the child.  A classic tale of manly tragedy."

Blackwood groaned.  "Colonel, next time I get another one of these brilliant ideas, talk me out of it, okay?"

"I would've, Doctor, but you didn't tell me what it was. Besides, you were right," he replied, looking around at the grins and relaxed postures of the others in the room.  "This was exactly what we needed.  My stress has been greatly reduced."

"Oh, mine, too," Suzanne agreed.

"Immeasurably," Norton concurred.

"For sure," summed up Debi.

"I'm very happy for all of you.  But now, if someone would just give me an aspirin and turn off the lights; I think I'll pass out right here."

"Aspirin?" Ironhorse asked.

"I have a terrible stress headache."


End file.
